A Court's Maim

میں | Me

Chapter 27.

Curving into the lascivious roads of their street, watching with feigned amusement as the engine lapped over in silence, they stared in silence. The doors of iron — magnanimous in their disposition, ready to be opened by the crisply uniformed guards on either side. Even as the morning dew had died down on the remnants of a once lush foliage, a few droplets persevered, hanging on the undersides to catch a glance. Armed forces surrounded either side. Read to aim. Gazes focused over the lining crowd on either side. Pushing them aside as the entourage began to arrive. Unfolding with an almost teasing gait.

Behind the tall gates that with the torrential rain had been covered in a million of droplets, racing past, was the building that had stood tall for over three decades. Spanning the width, surrounded by a round drive way, the wealth it spoke of was great. Unmatched in levels. Rabid sounds of palms that smacked over the tinted windshield struck the ear drums. Harsh. The intensity unmatched. Over the sides the people of all ages and the media personnel thrust their microphones any chance they got, doing the bidding. Provided with the backdrop of a setting sun — it's illustrious gilded gold matching the bespoke glamour of the trims of the home it set beneath was beauty enough. Added on, the varying shades of grey — of night and of fury, told a story altogether different.

Greatly revered scholars stood at the large doors with their carved in images of vines and flowers. The heavy bronze door knobs covered in joyful glitters and roses stood tall on either side. Amongst the valour and the callous beauty of the ordained was the family that had suffered. All stood in their luxurious attires, with arms around one another as they waited. Every breath was bid on. It was harsher than the days before — the long wait. Each minute crept by at the pace of a snail, weighing down. Alerting of it's preciousness. Gentle grins and flashy smiles on each of their made up faces matched up to the perfect magazine cover, as they posed. Bright whites and streaks of red.

A lot of him in a bit of them.

Cruising through the building flashes and comments screamed into their direction, the claret red Mercedes found no troubles in entering the parted doors. Spurred warm air managed to massage their pinkish skins, turning them from pale to an almost subtle red. It's acceleration died down as it stopped a few feet away from the grand doors where their arrival was awaited. Letting go off the heavy steering wheel, she tilted her head to pass him a long glance. Throwing him a reassuring smile as the brightness of the lights outside blinded them. Her hand squeezed his over the console. After which her fingers covered in gems, fixed the neckline of her blouse.

The car doors closed with a soft thud. The two stood facing each other before she rounded over to his side, taking his arm that was always up for offering. Her white saree matched the shades of the morning skies when the clouds were clear and appeared to be a ball of floating cotton. Made of the finest chiffon's, her drape trailed behind them over the cobblestone path that led to where the rest stood in awaiting. Strolling through, with the sounds of her heels giving them company, they climbed over the stairs. A gentle wind blowing through her hair, washing against her neck. Barekhna shivered as the cold air ran down her bare arms. Leaning into Aliyaar's embrace slightly. Hoping no one had noticed.

Home.
Aliyaar swallowed thickly as his unidentified gaze ran over the faces of his family members. Then at the door behind them. He could — if asked, carve out each crevice of the door without fail. He knew his hands could though only roughly, sketch to the very last strand the faces of everyone before him. It was all that he had done when locked away from them. His fingers had lost count of the number of times they had used the dust and ground to sketch the faces. Aliyaar feared he would forget them. So he had gone over in great detail, stopping every few seconds to remember how they smelt and how they were. Keeping the fire of his life kindling in remembrance. That was — and would always be his home. A startling realisation. Bricks and cement could not be what breathing humans were.